


The Devil Went Up To New York

by 35grams (caxxe)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crisis of Faith, M/M, Reaper - Freeform, Supernatural Elements, Twilight Zone-inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caxxe/pseuds/35grams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm no fiddler.”</p><p>“But you fiddle with your mouth, lawyer-man.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

The key jammed in the lock. Erwin set down his briefcase, steadied the knob with one hand and jimmied the lock with the other. It was well past time to replace it, yet it lingered for so long in the overcrowded _I'll get to it later_ corner of his mind that nothing less than getting locked out of his own apartment would get a rise out of him.

It clicked open. A joint popped somewhere as he knelt to carefully lift the briefcase – it was stuffed well over capacity with case materials. Mercifully, it didn't pop in the short walk from the threshold to the rickety kitchen table.

The floor creaked. The lights flickered. The clock ticked. He took a quick shower, changed into more comfortable slacks and shed his jacket and tie as his stomach filled the freezing flat with its petulant burbling. He hadn't had lunch.

He heated old leftovers and bent over the case files as taxi drivers dove into shouting matches outside. The clock ticked.

The case has been dragging on for months. It was a messy thing. His client had committed crimes of necessity. Nearly all his clients committed crimes of necessity, and Erwin knew. He knew because he respectfully disagreed with the many who chided him for leaving a corporate legal firm to become a public defender. He knew, because he'd rather defend a crime borne of necessity than of avarice.

He shivered. It was a cold November, colder than last year's and the year before. He could hardly turn the pages with his numbed fingers. Erwin rummaged through his closet for a sweater and checked all the windows, though there was nothing else to do about the one with the impressive vertical crack but tape the whole thing shut. Wind buffeted the weathered plastic.

Erwin returned to his case files and remained there until the early morning hours. Something agitated him about the case. Something he couldn't name. That, more than the source itself, unnerved him all the more. Everything could be named. Everything could be explained. He strained his ears.

The clock wasn't ticking.

Erwin stepped out of the kitchen and approached the clock that hung over his front door. He reached for it, but he froze. The minute hand still moved. The second hand still moved. But they made no sound.

“Drives me nuts.”

Erwin turned. On the other side of the flat, not six feet away, a man lounged lazily on his ratty sofa. Erwin had no flatmate. He'd invited no one over.

Erwin lowered his arm. The man stared at him, and Erwin stared back. Briefly, he wondered if there was a handgun clutched in the pockets of that oversized sweatshirt. There was likely little hidden in his vibrant cat-print leggings.

“Who-” Erwin began.

“All night, that shitty ticking. Put on some music or something,” he said. Erwin tensed as the man pulled his hands out of his sweater pockets, but it was only a notebook in his hands. He flipped through it.

“Erwin Smith?”

“Yes...”

“Thirty-two, divorced, no kids-” he rattled off from his notebook.

“What is this? Who are you-”

“Parents Thomas Smith, passed, Willow Smith, passed. No siblings-”

Erwin became aware of the knives in the kitchen drawer. He chided himself at never having noticed a stalker, never mind one like this. The intruder blew his dark bangs out of his eyes.

“Anything to drink?” Erwin asked as he headed back to the kitchen. There was no harm, not yet, in playing along. He turned away and nearly swore.

“Nah,” the man drawled, seated in the kitchen and propping his legs up over his head against the table. Erwin resisted the urge to look back at the sofa. He didn't want to give him the pleasure of a reaction but his heart pounded in his ears all the same.

“Duh-dun. Duh-dun,” the man teased.

It must have been a trick of the light. He must be light on his feet. Or Erwin had hallucinated. He had gone for too long without sleep.

“Alright,” he said, and snapped his book shut, “here's the up and down. You're going to that farm upstate, blondie. Twenty-four hours, say your goodbyes, recycle your last can of Monster, whatever.”

“Who do you work for?”

The man scoffed. “Do you really think some mafioso sent me? Me?” He leaned back in the chair and folded one kitten print-wrapped leg over the other.

“If I get your meaning-”

“Clearly you don't, Eyebrows. You're done. Out. Sleeping the big sleep-”

“Don't quote Chandler to me.”

“Worth a try. You did read that one four and a half times. Could finish that last half with your twenty four hours, too, if you-”

“Get out.”

The man sighed heavily. He was smaller than Erwin. A physical altercation was in Erwin's favor, but not if his intruder had a gun. Erwin would rather not add hospital charges to his towering debts.

The man rose. He brushed himself off as if the chair had been filthy, and despite the absurdity of it all, Erwin had enough space in his mind to spare for shame at his own untidiness. The man reached up toward the naked bulb that swung lightly over the table.

He touched it, and it dimmed.

With his other hand, he gestured toward himself as if he were a showgirl presenting the grand prize at a game show.

“Ideally, I'd do a plant or something, but it looks like you beat me to it,” he said, glancing at the wilted little ficus on the counter-top.

Parlor tricks. Still, the base, reptilian part of him awakened at the display. And the man's inscrutable presence in the kitchen when Erwin hadn't seen him move only stoked the adrenaline that flooded him now from the crown of his head to the ends of his toes.

Erwin caught something in his peripheral. He turned to see the man leaning against the front door. He was certain now. Not a fraction of a second had passed in the time it took Erwin to turn his head, and yet there he stood.

“Bravo. Even I can just barely catch your tells,” the man sneered.

Erwin turned to the kitchen, now bare. He turned again to the front door, but it, too, was now absent one cocky intruder.

Turning again, Erwin saw him once more on that lumpy couch. His head spun.

“Your heartbeat plummets like an archer's before a shot. Good shit.”

“Who, then?” Erwin asked, throat parched. “God? The Devil?”

The man tsked. “You lawyer types wanna put a name to everything, you and scientists.”

“Is that a yes? To one? To both?”

Interested, the man sat up. “Would you argue with God?”

“Would you claim to be one and yet not be?”

“Would you argue with God and still not believe?”

“I believe what I can name. What I can explain.”

“You'd use your last twenty three hours, forty-six minutes and ten seconds to try and explain me?”

Erwin didn't answer. Instead, he asked, “So how does it work?” He returned to the kitchen, careful to keep an eye on his guest. “Are you just a messenger? Come here on your winged sandals?” He poured himself a glass of water. “Are you death incarnate with your scythe? Or have you traded it in for a gun, or cyanide to sneak into my dinner? Traded in the flowing robes for something more… " He looked him over. "...practical? Are you the universe made corporeal?” He drank, and curiously, the man waited. "Or are you really The Devil, come to have your fun? I'm no fiddler.”

“But you fiddle with your mouth, lawyer-man.”

Erwin set his glass down. When he came to him, his shadow fell on the man who cast none.

“Then we can come to an agreement,” Erwin said.

“The devil made the deal in that story.”

“Maybe I'm the devil in this one.” 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Death was impatient. Death lingered. Death knocked over a book with its idle, swinging legs. 

Erwin turned to the man lounging on his sofa if only to make sure he hadn't let in a cat.

"Here I thought," Death started, dropping his - It's? Their? - feet to the cold wooden floor and striding over to Erwin's desk, "that convincing me to let you live involved, you know. Convincing."

"I need to settle my client's affairs," Erwin said without turning again. "They shouldn't suffer for my arrogance." Laptop keys clacked under his fingers. Half of its letters were worn off. The least he could do was make sure his wards had a public defender whom Erwin trusted to do right by their cases. Just in case this entire affair was legitimate and not the product of an extravagant fever dream.

Erwin blinked and Death was now treading atop his desk. 

"What's the opposite of convincing?" His heel jostled the laptop.

"Just a moment," Erwin muttered in between writing one last correspondence. He hit send. Death's heel snapped the laptop shut. 

Sticky notes lined the monitor, still more surrounded the keyboard. The muffled snap was a sound he must have heard a hundred times by now, a thousand, yet this time, and each one before. The dust disturbed by the motion rose in a plume that could never once rise in this exact image and formation again. Early morning light trickled through the many motes. 

"Would you walk with me?" he asked, and Death, with an indifferent shrug, agreed. 

Death wandered after him as he entered the belly of the early morning city. Taxi drivers from the night before slammed their horns at him. He waved. A boy with a blue backpack plodded sleepily along. One little gloved hand rubbed at his eyes. The other clutched his mother's hand. On the other side of the road, the rising sun melted the spindly black lattice of fire escapes into hot scarlet brick. A stiff breeze blew Erwin's hair into his eyes. 

"What?" Death asked when Erwin stopped. He looked like an old man now. His voice, gruff. His mustache, wild, and his stature, bent, even shorter. Erwin smiled, counted to himself the number of spots on his balding head, and strode on.

They waited for the crosswalk light to change, and Death was a woman, all furs and pearls and exquisite coif. She met his eye and narrowed her own. "It's rude to stare."

Erwin averted his eyes with a sheepish smile and tightened his hold on his briefcase. "Doesn't anyone else see?" he asked.

"Sure. That crowd by the bodega's making eyes."

"But when you change?"

The light became green, and Death shoved his grimy hands into the patched pockets of a too-big coat.

"Ever thought you were seeing things?" Death asked in a smoker's drawl as they crossed. Death hobbled, so Erwin offered his arm. 

"What about cameras?"

"Glitches."

"Corroboration?"

Death giggled, because Death was a girl now, all scabby knees and choppy hair and backpack with missing straps and bunching, uneven patches. "Two or twenty or a hundred people swearing on a ghost isn't corroboration. It's a cult."

"So every deja vu, every trick of the light-"

"Not all of them. But enough."

Erwin thought of a boy with too-small mittens. He thought of a child that could have saved a marriage, could have ended it sooner. But it was a child that never was or will be, so there wasn't much use in what-ifs and could-have's. Struck by rare impulse, Erwin raised the girl onto his shoulders. He held her steady by her worn slippers as Death put her chin on his head and let him pretend.

"Don't you want to know?" she asked suddenly, and though the gap in her teeth gave her a charming lisp, she was every bit Death wanting to know why a man giving his life to the pursuit of truths would not ask for one now. 

Erwin came to a park bench and set her down beside him.

"Her lips are blue," he said without looking at her again. "Missing toes," he said, recalling the misshapen little feet in the slippers he'd held. A girl abducted by the chill and delivered  to Death's door. He turned, and a man with dark hair and printed leggings looked back. Erwin stared at his eyes. Sweeps of charcoal on newsprint. He hadn't drawn in years. Not with any feeling. 

"How did he die?" Erwin asked of the young man with the tired eyes.

Death shoved his hands in his sweater. "Doesn't matter."

They watched a gaggle of bicyclists speed past, and Erwin pretended not to take interest in the evasion. He blinked, and the woman in furs sidled closer and draped his arm across her shoulders.

"Can Death be cold?"

"Don't be weird."

Erwin smiled, but it didn't last. It was an hour to noon. He should be preparing the opening statement of his life, for his life. But a breeze rippled just then through the grass and nothing in the world seemed near as important as chasing waves in green blades.

"So. Gonna tell me about your clients?" Death asked, and Erwin turned at a there or not-there flicker at the very edges of his vision. The man in cat-print leggings kicked at a pebble. His hair fanned over Erwin's shoulder for only a moment before he moved away with a jerk, as if one face did not share the inclinations of the last.

Death, a network. 

"All the lives and families and whatever you saved?" Death suggested as he flitted between the ones he'd taken.

Erwin retired his ruminating long enough to answer. "I'm sure you know all that."

"Then tell me what and who you abandoned so you could play savior."

"You know that, too."

The man's head turned a degree or two his way, though he went on gazing at the park-goers. Lashes latticed cool grey.

"Ah," the man said. "The low bar trick. Playing the pathetic dunce only to make the eleventh hour speech a real firecracker."

Erwin indulged him with a smile that confirmed nothing either way, though it was the first he'd given thought to that idea. Even now, several strains of these final speeches assembled themselves almost of their own volition from all the parts he'd accumulated and invented and borrowed from a courtroom life. His work demanded guiding so many destitute clients through an unforgiving legal system that he, as would any, sought patterns and stock assets on which to build instead of starting foundations anew with each case.

A few of these strains - some demanding, others pleading, still others bargaining - passed the assembly line inspection and began the process of carving nuance into their broad strokes and primitive shapes, though even then, he could make himself afford only minimal thought to the effort.

He knew shock well enough, knew its familiar grip. His hands hadn't once stopped shuddering, not entirely. A faint ringing echoed in his ears. If ever he could peer into his future, it would be into that very eleventh hour when his mastery at compartmentalization would finally bow to the reality of his impending end.

He didn't see any reason to hasten that moment.

He rose and hurried off with a "come," over his shoulder.

The woman's heels clacked accusingly after him. He lessened his pace and offered death his arm.

"House call," Erwin said before she could ask.

Death snorted at his briefcase, now the bent, hobbling man.

"Thought you took care of that," he groused.

"One last visit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been the most difficult fic to write since his death but I can never seem to let it go. I've deleted drafts only to rewrite them at 3 in the morning on my phone more than once out of some..I don't know.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

 

When his client opened her door to his knock, Erwin was mid-introduction before a prickling at his neck inspired a turn to the empty air behind him. Death was gone. 

 But not really gone, surely. He supposed the alleged harvester of immortal souls had plenty to do beyond chaperoning a two-bit lawyer in a too-old suit. Erwin handwaved his client's questioning look and closed the door behind them. It took a good shove to get the misshapen thing to scrape back into its frame.

They rehearsed her case details in the shadow of an impending court date. It was an experimental argument that leveraged cracks in painstakingly crafted corporate law to shave the severity off of a misdemeanor assault at the back of a closed frozen yogurt shop at four in the morning.

'Experimental' was the operative word. 'Sold' was Ymir's. She wouldn't have sought him out by name otherwise. 

It had embarrassed him to find prosecutors sneaking into his court gallery to listen, slack-jawed, to his arguments, but he understood the novelty. He never really stopped practicing corporate law. He'd only changed clientele.

She had no clock - presumably used her phone - but the ticking echoed in his skull even so. Still, he couldn't be unprofessional. He didn't come here just to bungle his last case.

While scanning her written deposition, Ymir wondered about a strange sound. Erwin froze. His understanding of what could and could not be real had been so betrayed that he would've believed that he had singularly manifested a clock in her home from the tick-tapping sound he'd pretended not to hear for the last hour.

She tossed another can of energy drink into the pile from the couch, swiveled around and snorted. Erwin followed her eye to a small black bird, nearly indistinguishable, making a day out of pecking at her window.

Erwin looked beyond it, to the reason he could barely see it. Snow fell black against white streetlight against black sky. 

Ymir came to the window to shoo it off. The bird gave a last emphatic peck before flying away.

Erwin politely declined a can as she returned from a detour to the fridge. "Ymir," he said with an eye on the encroaching dark, "Let's wrap in five."

The wind snapped at his face and snaked through his thin coat, but he found he couldn't shiver. He felt it in him as he walked home, felt it building like a trapped sneeze. 

His fingers barely bent as he rooted around in his coat pockets for his keys. It was a good three or four loops through his coat pockets, pants pockets, and the deepest recesses of his briefcase before he began to accept that they would not simply appear if he only stretched out his pockets past decency.

What a relief, he thought, to not need to think of where to stay, or how he would contact his landlord, or what he would eat.

He banished the thought as soon as it came, filled his head with any and everything to push it out of his memory altogether, as ill an omen as the black stray crossing his path as he wandered away from the building.

He stopped to peer back at it and said accusingly, "A little too on-the-nose."

"A little too dense," Death said beside him, an old woman. Erwin turned reflexively. When he turned back, the cat was gone.

"Any idea how annoying it is to fly in the snow?"

Erwin stopped at a red light, though no cars were around. "Of course," he groused. "Wasn't I one in a past life?"

"Presumptuous of you," Death said, an armless businessman, "For all you know, your soul bounced between worms and gnats for a million years."

"Interesting word."

"Worm?"

"No. Not that one." But he didn't pursue it further. It wouldn't matter. He didn't have it in him to banish that thought, too.

He felt Death's eyes on him, a girl now, heard the ticking in his skull. Erwin looked up. He'd been standing right through the green light. He still couldn't shiver.

He turned and walked in the opposite direction. Heels licked after him.

"Where to?" Death asked, now, he assumed, a model. Erwin pointed to the bridge in the near distance. 

"I've never argued a case with a view."

When he didn't hear a response, he stopped. Tottering unsteadily behind him was a toddler no heavier than the wind that had just blown him off his feet. Erwin doubled back and picked him up, a flare of annoyance racing through him at the dirty trick, though he couldn't explain why he felt so. He didn't want to know how this one passed.

The child looked no different but seemed to gain a pound with every step. At the mouth of the bridge, Erwin stopped, sweat chilling on his skin. The toddler wriggled out of his arms, and with a sudden, lightning dexterity, pulled himself over the rails and plunged into the waters. 

Erwin pulled himself to the edge with such speed that he knocked the air from his own lungs. He could shiver now, and he more than made up for all that time he couldn't.

"Speaking of on-the-nose..."

Erwin whirled around. An old man in overalls walked past. Erwin watched him go for a moment, before tearing after him.

"Is that your stunningly unique way of demonstrating your boredom?" Erwin spat. "Then let me put your mind at ease-"

"Minds," Death corrected. 

"-because we'll be on our way very soon."

Grey eyes looked back. It was the one who spoke to him first. Despite Erwin's galloping heartbeat and cold fury, something in the man's expression gave him pause. 

"We," the man repeated.

Erwin strode along the bridge to give himself something to do. "I assume I'll be an addition to your collection-"

An old man whirled him around with mottled hands. "Dot your i's, boy."

"I assumed you already know what I-"

A little girl with scarlet hair kicked him in the shin. "Assume nothing, mister."

Erwin bent over to rub his leg and aimed a wounded look at her. "Alright, alright." He straightened. Assume nothing, then. He couldn't gauge what forms its foresight took. Maybe it, they, knew, and wanted to hear it from him proper. Maybe they didn't, only granted access to a name and a date in some great celestial bureaucracy. 

Erwin looked once more at the glowing arteries of the city, at the snaking arms of the river. He took an unsteady breath. "I yield my time."

The girl squinted. "Huh?"

"I won't convince you. I just spent my last day on earth, a day that felt like three years, instead of calling my mother or smelling the roses, I spent it rooting through human laws and human precedents and thinking," he then laughed a little, "I can convince an inhuman being that I'm something I am not. I'm only sorry I couldn't be more entertaining."

The girl frowned, then lit up. "Oh!"

Before Erwin could speak, the girl vanished, replaced by whoever was then holding a barrel to the back of his head. His hands shot up instinctively, though given the circumstances, he felt silly enough that they soon drifted back down.

"Tell you what," a hard, scratchy voice said behind him. "You sing like this is any old mugging, and he'll forget what you just said."

"He?"

The man shoved him, whirled him around, bent him over the railing. 

Erwin grabbed hold of his collar. "He?" Erwin repeated.

"He'll never let it go now," a voice said to his left. But the man hadn't disappeared.

"Great job, idiot," another said, before a whole cacophony of voices moaned and whined in his head, and by the man's embarrassed scowl, his as well.

He shoved Erwin away from the railing, but by the time Erwin found his own feet, he'd disappeared. It was another moment before Erwin realized that the voices had quieted, too. Feeling unmoored without that familiar unfamiliar presence beside him, he looked here and there and ran halfway across the bridge before he felt something hit his head. And then, again. 

He looked up. Perched on one massive bridge cable was the man with the closely shorn hair and the grey eyes like hidden knives. He was eating precisely one cocoa puff at a time straight from the box in between lobbing them at Erwin's head.

"Hey," Erwin called. "What did they mean-"

"Quit yelling," the man said, and though he was a fair few meters away, he may as well have been standing right before him.

"Okay," Erwin breathed. "Okay."

"Well?" the man asked. It felt wrong, suddenly, to think of it, them, him, as Death. Not in the conventional sense. Not in any sense. He was broken out of his thoughts. "Start singing."

"We've met before, haven't we?"

It was a shot in the dark, but the man's expression opened floodlights.

"I thought, this time, total cakewalk," the man sighed. He lobbed another piece at Erwin's head. "Thought, look at that, big shot lawyer. In the bag." And another. 

Erwin's mind raced. "We've...done this before?"

"Oh, yeah."

"And I didn't...didn't argue then, either?"

 "You sure didn't, pal." He grinned humorlessly. "The devil couldn't have designed a more perfect hell. For me, I mean. Is that you in there, morning star?"

 "But when?"

 "A fever here, a malignant-turned-benign growth there. Couldn't have you remembering all that, you understand."

 "Then how am I still here?"

 "Because you convinced me, then."

 But he hadn't argued then, either. If he was telling the truth, Erwin should have died long before tonight. If he was telling the truth.

 "No," Erwin said. "I don't think I did."

 He appeared before Erwin, but not before a deluge of cocoa puffs rained over his head, with the box tumbling after them. 

 "You spared me anyway," Erwin said, guessed. He heard no objection.

 Erwin picked cereal out of his hair as the man hopped up onto the railing. The snow fell heavily. He could only see him in bits and pieces.

 "I'm no good at this shit," the man said softly. 

 Erwin waited, struck by a vulnerable cord in his tone, but another spoke instead.

 "That's what we are, you know," a girl piped up. 

 "Bunch of losers," a boy said.

 "Not Death, silly," another girl said. 

 The snow obscured one as another appeared.

 "Stuck here like old garbage," an old man coughed. "Collecting other garbage."

"Like you, dear," said the socialite.

 "Chasing something or other," an old woman said.

 "Like a second chance!" said the girl with missing toes.

 The old woman shook her head.

 Erwin struggled to catch his breath, though he stood perfectly still. Every person he'd never get to defend. Friends lost and never found. A child never had. He'd shoved it all away, far away. So it hadn't been far enough.

 "You thought of it just now," an old man groused. "Yeah, boy, I saw it. You know why we're after you."

 "That gentleman keeps delaying, though," the businessman sighed.

 "Who knows why," the socialite laughed.

 "Never crossed our wires like this," the old man said. "What a pain."

 Erwin looked away momentarily, eyes and ears and everything else overburdened by these purgatorial denizens. Could it be enough to make peace with lost chances? Erwin had done what he could with the time he'd been allotted. These faint regrets didn't feel like soul-churning obsessions. Could he be so deaf to his own soul?

 "You look like you could shit sideways," the man said. "Relax, you're in the clear."

 Erwin scoffed, still looking away. "They- they sounded convincing."

 "They're not lawyers. Easier to fool. Think they would've let me see you otherwise?"

 Erwin looked up at him, all cat-print leggings and oversized sweatshirt and grey dagger-eyes of him. "I won't be collected?"

 "You're not even dying."

 Erwin's ears rang. "But you said-"

 "A lot of things." He left the railing. "I really ruined your day."

 "Yeah. You did."

 "The paperwork you'd need to refile alone-"

 Erwin groaned. 

 "All the calls to your worried lawyer friends."

 "That's right-"

 "All because I was a little bored." With that, he withdrew a set of keys from his sweatshirt and tossed it into the river. 

 "My-"

 "You must really hate me."

 Erwin stopped with his tongue against his palate on a reflexive 'no'. The man actually leaned forward, all tense face and white knuckles, waiting. Waiting for him.

 Waiting for Erwin to understand that he was still here because of him. 

 He couldn't break the pattern himself. He might have come to Erwin a dozen times before, a hundred, and Erwin must have missed his cues each and every time. Made him start over every time. 

 "Yes," Erwin lied. "I do. I wish I'd never met you. I'm glad I don't remember meeting you before. I wish I'd died all those other times, though I'm sure you lied about that, too."

 The man stared intently as he spoke and didn't move an inch but for the brimming of his eyes. 

 "I wish you'd go," Erwin said. "I wish you'd go far, far away and never return."

 For several deafening moments, the snow stilled, and the air froze solid. The man fought, unsuccessfully, to contain his relief.

 "Yeah," he said under his breath, "I'm gonna go now."

 "Did we ever meet?" Erwin asked quickly, and entirely out of character, but he wouldn't bear it if he never knew. His hands rose to the man's shoulders. "When you were still-"

 "No."

 "Did I know you?"

 "Clearly not."

 "Did you know me?"

 He didn't answer. Erwin's hands closed on air.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "a day that felt like three years" haha get it


End file.
